You and I
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: CS AU. Emma's been gone for six years, but something always brings her back to the same place, the same guy ... this time, it's for good.


**A/N: **Don't worry! I'm still working on "Hereafter"! But I wrote this while sitting around the hospital, dealing with some unpleasant family stuff, to take my mind off of everything. It's fluffy and not meant to be anything but that. I hope it makes you smile, because I enjoyed writing it. Completely and utterly inspired by hearing "You and I" by Lady Gaga on the radio.

_It's been a long time since I_ _came around  
Been a long time but I'm back in town  
And this time I'm not leaving without you_

It was storming like a bitch when Emma pulled her little yellow bug up in front of the familiar docks in the same old familiar town. The tavern housed in a moored-up old ship hadn't changed a bit in the last six years - maybe it was a bit more rundown than it had been, but otherwise, it was the same old place.

She wondered if she'd find the people inside to be as unchanged.

With a deep breath, she pushed the door to her car open and, with a little yelp of surprise at the coldness of the pouring rain, darted toward the entrance to the Jolly Roger.

Once upon a time, she'd been there every night. Once upon a time, it had been as close to a home as she'd ever had. Once upon a time, she'd almost had everything here ... but that was before.

She could still remember the night as clear as day, she'd replayed it in her mind over and over and over again ... it had been storming then, too. She wasn't sure if it was a good or bad sign. They'd stood on this very deck, screaming at each other over the sound of the pouring rain, her desperate to be anywhere but there, and him ... desperate in the way he'd always been, for her.

Six years was a long time to go soul-searching, she knew that now, especially when every place she went only served to remind her of him. And the more those thoughts came to her, the more determined she was to put distance between them.

Until one night, about a week ago, she'd been standing on some unnamed beach clear on the other side of the country, with a man she'd somehow managed to fall in with during her time out West, a man who she was sure was about to propose any day ...

And she knew she had to go back. She couldn't commit to him, not when there was still a possibility of ...

Not that she'd expected him to wait. She wasn't stupid, and six years was a long goddamn time. He could be married himself by now. He could have a beautiful family for all she knew.

But she had to _know_. There was zero chance of her ever moving forward if there was still even the slightest possibility that he still wanted her.

Because she knew now that she wanted _him_.

Steeling herself, she yanked open the door and stepped into what had once been the main galley of this ship, back when it had actually been seafaring. It had long since been converted into the tavern it had been for the past ... well, as long as Emma could remember.

It was a raucous and rowdy as ever inside, and Emma smiled a little, her heartbeat evening out as she looked around. There were several familiar faces among the crowd, as well as some new ones. Emma's eyes flickered briefly over a few of the younger, prettier women in the room, wondering if one of them had taken her place in his heart.

"Well, holy shit, look who it is!" One of the louder voices in the bar shouted then, and Emma turned, smile on her face.

"Leroy!" she said, tilting her head to the side and giving him a look. "Guess some things never change, huh?"

The man simply raised his mug of beer at her with a shrug as if to say "it is what it is". "Come sit," he said, gesturing at the seat next to him. "I'll buy you a beer, you can tell me and Doc here what you been up to for the past ... shit, how long's it been?"

"Six years."

The voice made Emma's heart practically stop in her chest, and she looked up, the smile that had been on her lips just moments before faltering.

"Well, to be more precise," he continued, voice slightly clipped, "six years, five months, one week, three days and ... two hours."

Emma blinked, a little breathless laugh escaping her lips then. "Hell of a memory," she said with her best attempt at a smile on her lips. "Hi."

There was no reading his expression, there was no way to gauge what he was feeling from looking into his too-blue-to-be-real eyes, the same ones she remembered from all those years ago, except the light had gone out of them, it seemed.

"Ahoy, lass," he finally said, his tone giving nothing away. "Are you drinking? Because the new rules around here are that only paying customers are allowed."

Leroy opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced by a stony glare from the bartender.

Emma smiled tightly, sitting down on one of the barstools. "I'm drinking," she said, nodding once. She leaned forward a little then, eyes searching his face. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time or something, I thought you'd be happy to see me."

That earned her a grin, but it wasn't the joking, playful one she'd known well years ago. It was colder, almost a smirk, as he leaned in as well, face very near hers then. "Bloody ecstatic, can't you tell?" he said in a very low voice, the tone almost menacing.

He straightened up then, and went about preparing her drink, without even asking her what she wanted. He didn't have to. He'd known her well.

Once upon a time.

Two-and-a-half hours later, Emma was down about six beers, and it had earned her nothing more than a knot in her stomach and the feeling that she'd stayed away too long and completely blown it.

Honestly, what had she expected?

He'd wanted to marry her, and she'd run away like a goddamn coward, after screaming at him and flinging the ring back in his face - literally.

She downed the rest of beer number seven and stood up, feeling only slightly buzzed and no worse for the wear.

"Leaving already?" Leroy asked her, giving her a look. She could feel his eyes on her now as well, but she didn't dare look.

"Yeah," Emma said, shaking her head and putting some cash down on the bar. "Have your next couple rounds on me, though."

"You're not ... _leaving _leaving, though?" Doc asked her from his spot beside Leroy.

Emma looked over her shoulder at them, her brow furrowed. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I ... I mean, it's not like I have anything to stay for. I just ... missed the place."

She didn't know how he'd done it, because she would've sworn he'd been standing back behind the bar only moments ago, but when she reached the door that led out on deck, there he was, blocking her way.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he asked her, that same cool tone in his voice.

"I'm leaving," Emma said, trying to sidestep him to no avail. "I made a mistake." When she said the words, though, she wasn't sure if she was talking about coming back here tonight - or leaving in the first place.

"Bloody fucking right you did," he said, his blue eyes snapping fire at her. "Sit your ass down over there." He nodded to one of the booths in the corner of the room. "You're not going anywhere until I've good and said my piece to you, but you're just going to have to wait til I close up, got it?"

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her by pressing his lips against hers, in a hot, hungry kiss that was full of six years of pent-up longing and anger. "You fucking owe me, Emma," he hissed against her lips then.

Emma swallowed thickly, his kiss still affecting her in a way that nothing ever had - or ever would. "Fine," she said quietly. Normally she wouldn't kowtow to anyone telling her what to do, but the truth of the matter was that ... she'd fucked up. And she did owe him a chance to speak his mind about it, because he'd never gotten to.

And she'd come back for him, after all.

It was only when she had made her way to the booth he'd directed her to that she realized ... it was the same booth - back when she'd first gotten into town, seven and a half years prior, he had just taken over ownership of the tavern from his uncle. Emma had been a pretty regular customer back in those days, and no small part of it was due to her attraction to the blue-eyed proprietor.

She bit her lip as she sat down in the booth, her fingertips tracing lightly over the tabletop. She and he had gotten close in that time ... she often stayed after hours back then, to help him clean up, just to be near him a little bit longer.

It had been one such night that they had ... been together for the first time. On this table. Emma shook her head, biting back a grin, remembering the night almost perfectly, except for a scene or two, erased by the whiskey they'd both been drinking.

She felt less like she'd made a mistake now, coming back here. Though she still didn't know exactly what it was he wanted to say to her, and that part made her nervous.

It seemed like it took much longer than normal for him to close up and get everyone out, and the longer that time went on, the more anxious Emma felt.

Finally, at nearly 3 a.m., after he'd dimmed the lanterns and gotten everything settled and everyone else was gone, he made his way to where he'd left her, bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses in hand.

Emma's eyes flickered up to his. "Was starting to think you forgot about me," she said softly.

He laughed, but there was no humor there as he sat down. "If only," he muttered, setting one of the glasses down in front of her, pouring her a shot and nodding his head at it. Emma picked it up and knocked it back, cringing a bit at the burn and bite of the alcohol. He followed suit, downing his own shot and pouring them each another, and the another, and another, before setting the bottle aside and leaning back in the seat across from her.

The light was dim, but he looked the same as he ever had ... a little older now, but six years would do that. "You look good," he told her, his words ever-so-slightly slurred, and she knew then why he'd brought the whiskey over.

They didn't call it liquid courage for nothing. She wasn't the only one nervous about this encounter.

"So do you," she told him, her eyes flickering over him once more.

He poured them each another shot, and after that one, Emma had to slide out of her jacket, feeling much too warm all of a sudden. She didn't miss the appraising look he gave her. "You said you had stuff to say to me," she prompted him then. She was more than ready to get it all out on the table, as it were, more than willing to know if she'd wasted her time coming back here ...

"Why are you here?" he asked then, not mincing his words, and for that, Emma was glad.

She sighed, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and taking a long pull from it, foregoing the glass completely then. "Why do you think?"

He snatched the bottle from her hand then, taking a long swig himself. "Well if I bloody knew that, I wouldn't be bloody asking, would I?" he sneered, and Emma rolled her eyes. The Irish really came out of him when he was drinking, and "bloody" pretty much was every other word out of his mouth.

She missed knowing these little things about him. How had she ever thought she could need anything else ... anything more?

She sighed heavily, fingernail picking at the table absently. "There's a guy who wants to marry me," she muttered, brow furrowed.

She heard him set the bottle down a little bit harder than necessary against the table. "And you bloody well ran away again, didn't you?" he asked her, his voice slurred and clipped, all at once.

"I made a mistake!" Emma said softly, still staring at the table. "I came back here because I saw what was out there, and ... and none of it compared to you at all. I know that I have no reason to think that you care or want anything to do with me after what I did ... hell you could be married yourself by now," she babbled, as she was wont to do when she was nervous. "But I had to know."

"Look at me, Emma."

Emma shook her head, knowing damn well she deserved whatever he wanted to throw at her ... she was a moron, a coward, afraid to face the things that scared her, choosing instead to run and hide.

"Bloody hell, Emma," he growled. "You really are an idiot if you think that anyone could mean anything to me after you."

She raised her head then, those words not the ones she had expected to hear from him. "I ... "

"Shut up," he said then, shaking his head. "Talking never does us any good, and I don't want to talk about this any more. I lived this hell for six years after you left, I'm bloody well through with it."

Emma nodded. "I understand," she said softly, reaching for her coat and sliding out of the booth slowly. "I just wanted to know if there was anything left here for me. And now I know." She stood up then. "It was nice to see you again, Killian."

"Like fucking hell."

He moved faster than a man should be able to move, especially considering the whiskey in his system. He had his hand curled around the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her blonde hair, before she could even speak or breathe or think, and he was kissing her again, only this time, she knew that it wasn't a warning kiss, it wasn't a kiss meant to grab her attention - though it definitely did that.

"There is _everything _here for you," he breathed against her lips raggedly, teeth grazing over her bottom lip, tugging at it. "There's never been anyone else for me but you."

The backs of her legs hit the edge of the table then, and his other hand slid up under the hem of her shirt. She had honestly expected anger from him, any barrage of names being flung at her, and she would've accepted it gracefully, knowing that the hurt she'd leveled against him six years ago had earned her at least that.

She hadn't expected this passion, this longing, this sense that he'd been waiting for her, every day since she'd left ... the knowledge hit her like a ton of bricks and she pushed him back a little, her breathing ragged as she looked up into his eyes. "You're not angry?" she whispered, bewildered.

"Oh, I'm plenty fucking angry, Emma," he whispered back, his lips trailing along her jawline now, as though he were unwilling to stop touching her. "But if you tell me you're staying ... we'll get through it." He flicked his tongue over her pulse and Emma shuddered.

"You sure this isn't just the whiskey talking?" she breathed.

"Ask me in the morning." His hands cupped her backside then, lifting her up onto the table, and he pressed himself against the juncture of her thighs.

"Fuck," Emma hissed out.

"Plan on it," Killian said, and the smirk, the cocky, good-natured one that she so loved, was back.

Her eyes flickered to his, and she bit down on her lip. "Killian, I ... "

"Shh," he told her, covering her lips with his again. "It's been six years since I've bloody been able to touch you outside of my dreams, and I bloody well plan to take every advantage."

Emma laughed a little breathlessly, her hands sliding into his hair. "You're so Irish right now," she teased him.

"God, I've missed you, lass," he breathed out, kissing her again, and again, and again.

Emma groaned, reaching for the button on his jeans then, not at all surprised when he followed suit. There was no patience here right now, there was desperation and need and what felt like a lifetime of yearning for the other.

When he pushed her back against the table, his hands sliding to her hips and pulling her flush against him, she wondered how she ever thought she would find something better than this anywhere else.

The truth was that he was hers, and she was his, and if the past six years had taught her anything, it was that no time or distance would ever take that away or change it. If anything else, it only made it stronger. There was just something about them ... it didn't matter where they ended up ... Emma was convinced, even if they were in separate worlds ... they would still find each other, somehow.

The night seemed to last forever, but the sun came up all too soon. Her head felt a little heavy from the whiskey, and she couldn't quite remember when they'd made it back to Killian's room at the back of the bar, but it didn't matter.

Her eyes cracked open and she saw him lying beside her, all disheveled and scruffy and perfect, watching her, his fingertips lightly tracing the curve of her cheek. Emma smiled at him crookedly. "I was supposed to ask you in the morning ... " she reminded him, remembering snippets of their conversation.

"Answer's the same," he told her, his voice thick with sleep. "What about yours? Are you going back to that man who wants to marry you?"

Her smile widened and she turned to face him, hand moving to cup his cheek as she leaned into kiss him. "I already have."


End file.
